


Auld Lang Syne

by Kasuchi



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: 5 Things, Alternate Canon, Awkward Dates, Bets & Wagers, F/M, Friendship/Love, Jossed, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 17:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1275601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kasuchi/pseuds/Kasuchi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>"It would appear we have a tie," Holt continued, voice neutral. </em> When the bet ends in an unexpected way, both Jake and Amy end up making concessions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Auld Lang Syne

**Author's Note:**

> I started this forever ago and only just finished it, so this turns AU at 1x12 "The Pontiac Bandit" give or take. I wove in some current canon back into it just because why not. Unbeta'ed at posting, so please feel free to point out any errors!
> 
> This fic is for **jellytea** because she's always been supportive of me and my crazy fannish ways, and because I know she'll like this story. ♥

She was smoothing down the skirt of her dress (stupid sweaty palms) when the buzzer for her apartment went off. Not that she'd ever admit it, but it made her jump. She buzzed him up -- who else would it be? -- and tried to take a deep breath and steady her hands, nervously adjusting her hair in the mirror. 

The knock on her door was more expected and, with one last fortifying breath, she pulled it open. 

Thanks to Jake's habit of ruining her dates, she wasn't unaccustomed to his usual "date look" which usually didn't vary much from his work look. However, this time he was wearing an honest to God blazer and had his hands shoved in his pockets. 

"Did you comb your hair?" she blurted out without thinking. "And since when do you wear glasses?"

He smirked. "You look nice, too." He pulled out one hand and rubbed the back of his neck, and suddenly Amy realized he was as thrown off by this as she was. 

She hid a smile and shook her head. "Just let me grab my bag." She turned around and even over the clangy radiator she heard him inhale sharply, a rather satisfying sound given the dress basically had no back. She handed him her tiny bag, pulled on her coat and locked her door behind her. 

"So, where did you park?" she asked as they descended the stairs. 

"Couple blocks over, by the bodega with the green awning." He held open the front door for her and she grinned. 

"How gallant," she said wryly.

"Hey, I can be a gentleman. I swear my mom raised me with, like, manners and stuff." 

"Whatever you say, pineapples." 

"What possessed me to ever tell you about that."

"No idea but there's no going back now." 

They rounded the corner and there it was, dark blue and gleaming under the street light, his '64 Mustang. 

A jingling sound broke her reverie, and she looked to see him holding up the keys, expression somewhere between rueful and smirking. "You sure you can handle her?" 

She beamed. "I manage you just fine, don't I?" He made a waving "ehhh" gesture with his hand and she snatched the keys from him. 

They slid into the car, interior still warm from his drive over from East Williamsburg. The bench seats were springy and there was even an iPod dock. 

She slotted the key in the ignition but didn't turn it over. Instead, she took a deep breath, hands running over the steering wheel, touching the gearshift and the turn signal and the wipers. 

"Should I leave, give you two a moment alone?"

She ignored him and splayed her hands over the dash, over the vents and the retrofitted stereo system, the controls for the air. 

Then, decisively, she turned the key and settled her foot on the clutch. Shifting gear, she pulled the car away from the curb and merged into traffic, driving onto the BQE after a couple of lights. 

Once on the (largely empty) highway, she floored it and shifted gears smoothly until they were across state lines, going 80 down the New Jersey Turnpike.

* * *

The bet had ended in mid-January, when the end-of-year totals were logged and sent to command.

"Tied?!" Amy was sure if she got shriller, she'd be in a range only dogs could hear.

"If you get any squeakier, I'm pretty sure you'll be audible only to dogs," Jake unhelpfully pointed out. 

She glared at him. 

"Well. This is a conundrum." 

The whispering in the briefing room stopped. Hat tucked under his arm, Holt surveyed the board impassively. In the top right corner was the final score.

Santiago 87  
Peralta 87

"It would appear we have a tie," Holt continued, voice neutral. 

"And that's _with_ me juking the stats slightly," Terry admitted. "I used the same reporting we send to command. No matter how I slice it, you two tied." 

"How is this even possible," Santiago asked herself quietly, rubbing her hands over her face. 

"Uh, because we're amazing detectives, obviously." Jake looked vaguely affronted.

"And because this holiday season's crimes were super lame," Diaz added.

Jake shot her a sarcastic thumbs up. Diaz simply glowered at him.

"I take it you both didn't expect this outcome." If one were listening carefully, Holt almost sounded amused. "Standard procedure would dictate you both split the pot and call it even."

"We are NOT cutting Jolene in half." Jake slammed his hand on the table for emphasis. Terry whimpered at the sound.

"What does half a date even look like," Santiago grumbled.

"The last four of yours didn't clue you in?" Jake smirked.

"Nice one, Jake!" Charles piped up.

"Duh, it's dinner _or_ drinks _or_ sex." Gina flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked smug. 

"I say you should just bone down." Rosa looked back and forth between the two of them. Santiago felt her face grow warm. "Maybe it'll finally resolve all this sexual tension you have." She grinned and propped her feet up on the table. 

Amy sputtered and Jake looked impressed. He waggled his eyebrows at her. "Whaddya say, Santiago?"

She snapped her mouth shut with an audible _click_ and then her features flattened into a blank mask.

"Are you….actually considering it."

"No!" She responded quickly. Too quickly. 

"You totally are!" Jake near-shouted, practically pointing and laughing. 

"As amusing as I find this exchange, I'd rather not have two of my detectives exchanging sexual favors for good police work," Holt broke in, the edges of his voice acerbic. Jake's expression turned contrite and Santiago winced. 

"Sorry, sir," they both mumbled. 

"Still, there does need to be a satisfying resolution to this wager." Holt was still and silent for a long moment. The room seemed to hold its breath while he ruminated silently. 

Finally, he turned and faced the room. "Santiago, you'll get Peralta's Mustang for five months, until the summer solstice."

"What's the summer solstice?" Hitchcock looked confused, which to be fair wasn't out of the ordinary for him.

"It's the first official day of summer," Terry explained patiently. "This year, it's June 21st." 

Jake shot Terry a look. "Thanks, Poor Richard's Almanac." He made a _do you believe this guy_ expression at Charles, then turned back to face the captain. Beside him, Santiago looked triumphant. "So she gets my car for five months, and…?"

Holt tilted his head. "One date for each month you have possession of Peralta's Mustang." The room erupted into sound, drowning out Santiago's _nooooo_ , while Jake beside her grinned so wide it threatened to break his face in half. 

"I trust, of course," Holt continued blithely, "that you'll _both_ be respectful on these outings." It wasn't really a question.

Amy stood straight and nodded resolutely, eyes downcast, while Jake looked at Amy for a moment before tipping his chin slightly at Holt. 

"Good. Then it's settled." Holt surveyed the room. "Don't you all have open cases?"

* * *

**february**

"But a Valentine's Day date, though? Really?" She shot him an eloquent look as they pulled into the parking lot of the restaurant in Princeton. "It's such a cliche." 

He rolled his eyes -- she saw, despite the glare on his lenses -- and stepped out of the car. "Look, I made this reservation months ago, I get one date for February, and after this I'm handing you the keys until June, and it was you or my mom, and she's seeing a really nice guy so just, go with it." 

She tipped her head so that her hair covered her face while she fiddled with her tiny bag, taking a little too long to tuck the keys away. "Yeah, okay. Let's get this over with, Peralta." 

He smirked. "You should probably call me Jake, you know." He stuffed his hands in his pockets and waited for her to walk over and clasp his arm near the elbow. 

"What is this place, anyway? And didn't you go to Rutgers?" 

"Shh, they get sensitive about that here." He pulled open the door of the nondescript building and followed after she stepped inside. 

The building was a barn that had been converted into a restaurant, with a massive wrought-iron chandelier mounted from the rafters. She gaped momentarily as she relinquished her coat to the staff. "You were gonna take your mom _here?_ For Valentine's Day?"

"Yeah." He looked at her like she had grown a second head. "This place is all about local food, which she's super into." 

They were seated and Amy was handed a prix fixe menu and a wine pairing list. Dressed in literally her best dress, the one she'd bought to be a bridesmaid for a friend's wedding and then had her grandmother alter significantly afterwards, and seated across from Jake, of all people, it all felt too surreal. 

More surreal was how smooth the evening went. Nothing went flying, no last-minute calls (not that they could have responded anyway) or obnoxious texts from Gina, no discovering the restaurant was a front for some Sicilian mob demimonde. It was a perfectly nice dinner with perfectly nice conversation with her date, whose horn-rimmed glasses and good behavior were....perfectly nice.

Somewhere around the fourth course, she cracked. "This is super weird." 

Jake placed two palms flat on the table, on either side of his plate, and leaned forward. "Oh god, you think so, too?" 

In spite of herself she grinned. "I keep thinking you're going to, I don't know, pull out cherry bombs or something." 

He looked affronted. "Gasp," he said, rather than actually gasping. "You really thing that _I_ would---" he dropped the act. "Actually, I do have some fireworks in the glove compartment that I confiscated from some kids."

"There are kids in your neighborhood?"

He rolled his eyes. "Ok, fine, hipsters, and maybe I won them by beating them in hackey-sack." He shrugged loosely and she laughed. 

Later, when they'd split the bill -- at her insistence, because she was definitely _not_ Jake's mother -- and were driving home, Jake had her pull off the highway and drive through dark local roads for a distance.

"I swear if this is an elaborate way to scare me into giving the car to you, you are so dead."

Jake scoffed. "You have seven brothers. The element of surprise will literally never be on my side." He smirked when she chuckled.

They pulled up to a wide, flat space with the highway barrier fencing marking the edge. Before them was a huge expanse of lights. Without a word, Amy pulled up until the car's nose barely touched the metal, then cut the engine and the lights. 

They sat back and watched the lights flicker and move along dark streets they couldn't make out at this distance.

After a long while, they both sat up straight. Amy turned over the engine, and they drove back to Brooklyn listening to the classic rock radio station. 

**march**

"Why did you pick today, of all days, for a walking tour of the Lower East Side? Who even wants to do that?" Amy and Jake huddled under the awning of a closed sketchy pharmacy-slash-bodega while around them the rain fell in what seems like literal sheets. Amy rubbed her arms and shifted from foot to foot, shivering. Both of them were soaked through. 

"Okay, _first_ , it was basically free, since it was being led by someone from the historical society. Second, you mentioned you majored in art history, and some really famous artists lived there." Jake shot her a glare before pulling out his phone.

"Oh," she said, going still. "Now what are you doing?"

"There's no way this rain is gonna let up and….yes!" He looked at up at her, his wet hair and clothes making him look about ten years younger, somehow, or maybe it was the joyful expression on his face. "How do you feel about pancakes?"

"I love pancakes," she replied automatically.

"Perfect." He stuffed his phone back in his pocket (for all the good that would do) and grabbed her hand, pulling her back out into the wet. They half-jogged three blocks (holding hands, Amy swore she didn't notice) before Jake pulled open a nondescript door by a nondescript window in which one could _barely_ make out the health inspection certificate (a B grade, Amy was thankful to see) and pulled her inside. 

"What is this place?" Amy asked, ignoring the way water pooled in her shoes and the way her hair was sticking to her neck. Unbeknownst to her, Jake was watching her expression carefully. The room was done up to resemble that painting of the lonely souls at a diner late into the night. There were seats all along a wood counter, and Tiffany lamps lit tables framed by green and white glass mosaics. It was some strange, wonderful mix of bar and diner.

"It's a speakeasy diner," Jake offered by way of explanation. A waitress, wearing a black dress with a Peter Pan collar and a white half-apron with a pocket, approached them. "Two, please, and maybe some towels?"

They were seated, damp but no longer sodden, and Amy patted her hair dry while eyeing the menu. "How did you ever find out out about this place?"

"I know the owner," Jake casually mentioned. At Amy's raised eyebrow, he grinned. "Nah, I stumbled in drunk one night at 3AM and by some miracle I kept the receipt." 

"This city is so crazy sometimes," she commented mildly. She picked up the menu and scanned it, eyeing the pancakes while Jake unsubtly watched as a single drop of water made its way down her neck. "What do you recommend?"

"Ask her," he replied, half-dazed, as their server walked up to them. 

They ended up splitting a full plate of breakfast foods, eggs and bacon and sausages, a plate of blueberry pancakes, and hash brown potatoes cooked in chili oil, and when it was over, they nursed coffees and listen to the faint but unmistakable sound of the torrential downpour continuing to fall. In some way, it's oddly soothing. Amy could _feel_ her hair curling, and wiggling her toes was squishy and gross, but seated next to her, close enough to touch, was Jake, practically radiating warmth, and her hands were wrapped around a heavy ceramic mug.

The rain didn't let up for another half hour, and they mostly chatted about work and their open cases, but it felt so relaxed that the time hardly seemed to signify. 

**april**

Of all things, they go to Coney Island.

Amy hadn't been since she was ten, and told Jake as much, who admitted he brought a girl here last year and got laid because it was so different from her usual dates. Amy rolled her eyes but was secretly pleased to be at the seaside, even if the South Jersey beaches were better. 

Most of the way was spent in Luna Park, waiting in lines for rides. At one point Amy bought Jake the biggest cotton candy cloud she could carry, the whole thing roughly the size of her torso. He accepted the comically tiny cone that the whole thing was precariously built around with an undue degree of solemnity. "Amy Santiago, I think I love you," he intoned, making Amy laugh. 

Eventually, exhausted and a little sun-stroked, they walked the length of the beach, the incoming tide splashing around their ankles, and onto some side streets, Amy alternating between chewing on a pretzel and taffy while Jake made astonishing headway on the cotton candy.

"You're going to be miserable on the train back, aren't you?"

"Assuming I don't puke, yeah." Jake's wide mouth was stained slightly pink from the food coloring, and the cotton candy started to tilt dangerously to the side. Amy snapped a photo with her phone. 

They wound up at a park, the setting sun casting long, eerie shadows on the blacktop. Amy dusted off her hands and tossed the wrappers in a trash bin, Jake following suit with the remainder of the cotton candy. "If anyone asks, I ate the whole thing," Jake said seriously. Solemnly, Amy drew an X over her heart. 

They wandered through the playground until they come upon the empty swing set, with the two lowest swings side by side. "Oh, _man_ ," Amy breathed, and immediately raced for the slightly lower one. "Race ya!" She cried, immediately kicking off and pumping her legs back and forth, the rhythm returning to her as easily as breathing, as she gained altitude. She laughed, a startled and childlike sound, as her swing reached its peak height, leaving her weightless for a heartbeat and a half. 

"You are _so_ competitive," Jake called, nearly on par. They kicked their feet back and forth a little longer before coasting on the momentum until they were swinging in time together.

"When we were kids, we'd say this meant we were married for the rest of recess," Amy said over the _whoosh_ of the air rushing past.

"To be fair, I still have two more dates!" He waggled his eyebrows. "You're that eager to get your hands on the goods, huh?"

"Hardly," she returned dryly. 

They skidded to a stop just as the sun finished setting, the old swingset creaking as they stand. "Do you want to ride the Ferris wheel?" Jake's expression was hard to make out in the shadows. 

"Nah," she said. "Next time."

**may**

Amy used her police knock on Jake's door. "Jake! Open up." 

There was a shuffling sound, then some muffled cursing, and then the door opened, and a blue comforter with a red nose and brown eyes greeted her. 

"Haib thick, hai canth do our date thodhay." Jake punctuated his statement with a loud sneeze into tissues he was (thankfully) already holding. 

"Too bad, I have plans every other weekend this month." It was a lie, but Jake was also notoriously bad at being sick. Almost as bad as being a secondary. He was also less on his game when running a fever, fortunately for her. "Shut up and go back to the couch. I'm ordering you soup." 

The only decent place with soup nearby was a Thai restaurant, so she ordered _tom kha_ for him and _massaman_ curry for her. When it arrived -- in twenty minutes no less, God bless New York in good weather -- she made sure he ate the entire styrofoam carton before toeing off her shoes and settling in beside him on the cream-colored sofa. 

"I haven't been here since I replaced Gina's locks. Your locks now, I guess. By the way, this place is susceptible to theft." 

Jake shot her an eloquent, flat look. 

Amy just laughed. "Sorry, sorry. How are you liking the new place?"

The blue turtle version of Jake shrugged. "It's okay. Kinda hard to get upstairs sometimes." The spicy soup had cleared his sinuses some, meaning he no longer sounded super nasal.

"Aw, you're getting old?"

"What? No. Some ladies are afraid of heights."

"I shoulda guessed," Amy muttered. "Wanna watch _MacGyver_ on Netflix?"

"I thought you'd never ask." 

She ended up staying until it was dark out, watching TV and arguing with Jake about MacGyver versus _Burn Notice_ and which was better. At some point two episodes ago, Jake had leaned his head against her shoulder, claiming the sofa made his neck hurt. When Netflix counted down the 15 seconds to the next ep, she realized he was snoring softly. Gently, she reached out and pressed her palm to his forehead, gratified to find that he was warm but not feverish. 

She carefully shook him awake. "Jake, wake up, I'm gonna go."

"Naw," he mumbled. "Stay, s'fine." 

She huffed a laugh. "I live 20 minutes away. C'mon, up and at 'em, tiger." She pulled him up by the arm and pushed him up into the loft where his bed was, making sure he had ibuprofen and a glass of water handy. 

"Amy?"

"Yeah?" She said, pausing on the second rung of the ladder-stairs. 

"Thanks for coming over'n takin' care of me." 

She smiled in spite of herself. "See you Monday, Peralta." She gathered the discarded foot containers and let herself out. 

A few days later, Amy looked up to see a much more human Jake Peralta setting a large coffee cup on her desk. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "What's this for?"

"Thanks," he said simply. "You didn't have to come over and play nurse, but I'm glad you did. I'm just sorry it was probably the worst date ever."

"Nah," she replied, wrapping her hands around the still-warm cup. "It still goes on the good date list." 

**june**

"I honestly thought this winter would never end." Amy sighed and stretched her hands over her head, a day of desk work leaving her with tight muscles and a stiff neck. Jake watched her unsubtly and glanced away before she caught him. They walked out of the precinct together, the light outside still bright and strong.

"Yeah, I never thought I'd be glad for a miserable, humid summer in the city, but this winter blowed." 

They rounded the corner and there was the car, gleaming in the summer sun.

"Ahhh, Jolene. I've missed you, baby." Jake un-self-consciously hugged his car, leaving a face-print on the hood. 

"Aw, c'mon, I just had her cleaned." 

Jake rubbed at his face-print with the hem of his shirt, and it was Amy's turn not to get caught staring. "You got her cleaned?" 

Amy rolled her eyes. "For all the good it'll do. You'll probably have it smelling like old cheese again in a few days." 

"Still hurtful," he countered cheerily. "Shall we?" 

When they were both inside and she had pulled onto the highway, she asked. "It's our last departmentally-mandated date tonight." 

"Have you enjoyed taking my car out?" 

"Once the weather cleared up, yeah. My brothers are gearheads, and they begged me to let them work on the car for a weekend." 

Jake ran his hands on the dash. "No strange men will ever touch you again," he murmured soothingly. 

"I'm pretty sure you're way better a boyfriend to the car than you are to humans."

"What have humans ever done for me?" He joked. "We're cops, all we ever see is the worst humanity has to offer." 

"Doesn't that mean we should look at moments of real human decency with less cynicism?"

"Why? Pessimists are rarely disappointed." He sighed. "This is too heavy. Where are we going, anyway?"

"You'll see." Since it was their last mandatory date, Amy had chosen the place, giving Jake the responsibility of packing them a lunch, which he'd stashed in the back seat, a large brown paper bag that had been warm and heavy. 

They drove across Throggs Neck Bridge, and Amy heard Jake take in a sharp breath as Long Island Sound appeared and disappeared between landmasses. The car's body hummed in resonance with the asphalt as they sped along the Bruckner Expressway until Amy exited in the Bronx, following a two lane road until it came to a fork after a short bridge. 

They drove on along tree-lined two-lane roads until they pulled into a massive parking lot. Amy backed into a space and cut the engine. "Tadaa."

"Are you....taking me on a picnic?" 

She grinned and glanced at him in the passenger seat. "That obvious, huh? I knew I should have blindfolded you." They stepped out of the car simultaneously. 

"Amy Santiago, have you been reading _50 Shades of Grey_ again? What would your mother say?" He shot her a look before reaching back for the bag, slamming the door shut. 

"First, you usually treat me like I'm some kind of ignorant prude, so I'm surprised you think I've read that book? And second, I haven't read it, but my mom has, and she kept trying to get me to read it too." She wrinkled her nose. "She kept saying the main guy was so dreamy." She rolled her eyes. 

"It was either a _50 Shades_ reference, or I'd finally broken you and you were taking me well out of jurisdiction to murder me."

She scoffed. "Yeah, right. For one, I still have your car, so the suspicion would fall on me first." 

"Are you saying you'd never ditch Jolene?" 

"You are such a weirdo. And _if_ I were going to murder you, I'd at least drag you to Jersey first." 

"Ooh, mob-style hit, I like it. Would I get cement shoes?" 

"Aren't you the one always telling me I'm _such_ a sticker for details?"

He grinned. "I knew I could count on you. Man, now I want to solve that murder."

They made their way to a picnic area, and Jake laid out the Korean-style fried chicken and braised ribs, along with the innumerable plastic containers of _banchan_ \-- kimchi, potato salad, _jorim_ , _jijim_ , _japchae_ , rice, and a huge scallion pancake. While they ate, they talked through Jake's fake-murder, Amy telling him how she'd destroy all the trace evidence and ensure his body was never found. Jake took multiple different routes to solve the case, and they argued back and forth until they were surrounded by empty plastic containers, chopsticks, and a molehill of napkins. They tidied their table and washed up at a sink nearby, a pair of toddlers rinsing off their sandy feet on the other side of the half-wall.

Jake continued asking questions. "But what would you do with the bag after you'd vacuumed the rental car?" 

"I'd burn it, obviously," Amy retorted, wiping her hands on a cheap brown paper towel. Jake mirrored her actions. "I'm pretty sure I could find an incinerator somewhere." 

"Okay, so there's no trace evidence, my body is at the bottom of the Hudson, and you've got a two-day head start before work or my mom notices I'm missing. You've crossed state lines, worn multiple levels of disguises, and made all purchases individually with cash." Jake folded his arms over his chest. "I'm starting to think this was premeditated." 

"Just now you're starting to think that? No wonder my close rate is better than yours." 

"Hey, c'mon, you solved seven cases with one collar. How is that fair?" 

"Whatever, Peralta. The board doesn't lie." 

They walked in companionable silence for a while along the promenade, the air coming in from Long Island Sound cool and tinged with salt. The sky was starting to darken, the shadows growing longer. In the distance, Amy could see families and couples packing up and heading back inland.

"I should get out of the city more often," Amy sighed, reaching back and pulling her hair loose from its ponytail. "Sometimes I forget that there's more to this place than Park Slope. 

Jake laughed and scuffed his Sperry's on the hexagon tiles. "I grew up in Brooklyn and I don't ever feel overwhelmed by it the way you Jersey people do." 

She smacked him in the shoulder and laughed. "Shut up, it's not that bad." 

"I swear, all you Jersey people do is complain about how crowded it is here." Without making a show of it, he took her hand and laced his fingers through with hers. Amy felt herself blush but played it cool, focusing on responding to his jab.

"Well, it is! There were ten of us, and we managed in one house. I couldn't even have two people live in my apartment comfortably, let alone a whole family." 

"Uh, excuse me? I live in a lofted studio. You don't get to complain _at all_." He sighed. "I kind of miss my massage chair couch sometimes," he admitted.

"Gina made you sell them, huh?" 

"Yeah, but they wouldn't have fit in the new place anyway."

"I'm surprised that sofa fits in there, to be honest. How are you adjusting?"

"It's okay. It's small, but I kind of like it, too." 

"My first place out of college was basically exactly that apartment," she said, smiling nostalgically. "It was the _worst_ apartment, but I kind of came to love it, you know?" 

"Funny how that happens," he murmured, gazing out towards the water.

"Jake?"

"Hmm?"

"Are you going to kiss me or am I going to have to lay one on you?" 

Jake immediately turned bright red, from his neck to his ears, and Amy had to bite back a hysterical giggle. "Did--" He cleared his throat. "Did you just say what I thought you did?" 

She grinned and leaned back against the railing, pulling him into her. The wind picked up, whipping her hair into a frenzy, and one of his hands came up and pushed it out of her face. 

"Stop thinking and kiss me, Jake," she said quietly, letting go of their entwined fingers to run her hands up his arms, over his shoulders, and clasp behind his neck as he pressed his mouth against hers. She responded immediately, and she was glad the railing was behind her, even if it was digging into her back, because it felt like the earth was rapidly being pulled out from under her feet. She pressed her tongue into his mouth, and the kiss went from vaguely chaste to hungry, and she felt his hands cupping her ass and pulling her against him. 

She broke the kiss, though she didn't pull away. "So, uh. Maybe we should go somewhere more private?"

Jake nodded vigorously in agreement. 

Her expression turned wry. "And maybe I'm more okay than I used to be with being one of those girls in the back of your car." 

He froze for a second, gears turning. "You _planned_ this?" He looked stunned and impressed.

She reached into her back pocket and pulled out the keys to Jake's Mustang. "I have standards," she replied flatly, but her expression belied her tone. 

They wandered back to the car, a walk that took twice as long because Jake kept touching her, and when he touched her she wanted to kiss him, and that pattern played out every 50 feet or so until they were in the parking lot, in front of the car -- _Jolene_ , as Jake insisted it be called -- with Amy sprawled out on the hood, Jake standing between her legs and pushing his hands under the hem of her fitted t-shirt, making out like teenagers after school. 

She tugged at his hair and he made a half-pained, half-intrigued sound that she filed away to investigate later. "Jake, unlock this car and undress right now or so help me--" 

"Sheesh, _bossy_." He kissed her again and then circled around to the driver's side door to open the back. Amy shimmied off the hood while Jake pushed the driver's side of the bench seat forward and crawled in, Amy just behind him. They were parked between massive SUVs on all sides, affording them some measure of privacy. 

"Wait, Amy, are you sure you--?" 

She nodded solemnly, eyes gleaming and body vibrating with lust and joy and desire. "I've been waiting for you to kiss me since April, you idiot." 

"I'm _definitely_ an idiot for not kissing you after the swings." He cupped her face in his hands and kissed her again, chastely, as if making up for the missed chance, and it's such a sweet gesture that Amy felt her expression softening. "You know you're not just another girl back here, right?" 

She felt her smile turn mischievous. "I better not be," she retorted. Then, reaching back, she slammed the car door shut with one rough tug.

**Author's Note:**

> That speakeasy diner does NOT exist but man do I wish it was. It was based on [The Backroom Bar](http://www.backroomnyc.com/the-backroom-bar) and [The Turning Point](http://www.theturningpoint.biz/Locations/Hoboken), as well as _Nighthawks_ by Edward Hopper. 
> 
> For places I hadn't been (e.g. Orchard Beach) I relied pretty heavily on Google Maps and photos and other errata. Since this was mostly written in the Beforetimes, I had Jake living in East Williamsburgh (Bushwick) and have had Amy living in Fort Greene pretty consistently. 
> 
> Korean food is awesome, but not if you're vegetarian. 
> 
> Hat tip to **innie** for naming the car Jolene. I figured I'd continue the joke. :)


End file.
